


Combeferre (INTP)

by LesMisgayrables



Series: A Study in MBTI [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Study, F/M, M/M, MBTI, Multi, Psychology, i'm also no expert on this, kind of, personality types, talk about self-indulgement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LesMisgayrables/pseuds/LesMisgayrables
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre is a brilliant, emotionally-challenged Jack of all trades, with a tendency towards indecision and introversion, who just doesn't like responsibilities, focusing on one thing only, and sexual tension.<br/>This focuses on studying Combeferre as an INTP (one of the 16 personality types) and his interactions with the world and other people, particularly Enjolras and Grantaire. Absolutely no knowledge of MBTI typology is needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Combeferre (INTP)

**Author's Note:**

> I typed my headcanon Amis' personalities and I decided this was needed. Please know that I'm a terrible, terrible writer, and I'm also a lazy shit who never finishes a project, so this may or may not be the last item of this series.  
> This work focuses on different personality types and their interaction with other personalities. In this case, it's mostly INTP-ENTJ and a *really* careful INTP-ESTP.  
> No knowledge about this psychology theory is needed to read this, but you'll probably enjoy it more if you know about it or you look it up -- it's amazing, really, so I suggest you to read about it.  
> So anyways, these are my headcanon (I repeat: HEADCANON. You won't necessarily agree) Amis personalities:  
> Enjolras - ENTJ  
> Grantaire - ESTP  
> Combeferre - INTP  
> Cosette - INFP  
> Marius - INFP  
> Éponine - ENFJ  
> Jehan - INFJ  
> Courfeyrac - ESFP  
> Feuilly - ISFJ  
> Bahorel - ENFP  
> Bossuet - ESFJ  
> Joly - ENFJ  
> Musichetta - ENFJ

Combeferre sat on the corner with a desk they called a studio, writing a Philosophy essay, which was due in four hours. Enjolras watched, perched on the kitchen countertop, bemused with his friend’s habits, as usual.

“I told you, you should’ve started on that essay days ago. You’re not going to finish before midnight.”

“I have to finish it before midnight, because that’s the deadline,” Combeferre replied, not really paying attention. The apartment was silent for a minute but for the quiet tapping of the keyboard. “Don’t you have homework to do?”

“I’ve already done it.”

“All of it?”

“Yes,” Enjolras says pointedly. “You got that assignment on Wednesday morning; it’s Sunday evening and you’ve just started it.”

“I wasn’t in the mood to do it before. I had no inspiration.”

“And now you do?”

“No.”

“I will never understand you.”

“We always have this argument,” Combeferre sighs and finally turns to face Enjolras, not exactly unhappy that he was distracted.

“Because I don’t understand how you can procrastinate something that you like.”

“No: I like what the assignment is _about_ , but I just don’t like doing it.”

“But you have to do it, regardless, so why don’t you just –”

“Why is it so important to you, anyways? Do you want to spend quality time together?” Combeferre teased.

“No.”

“Because I was free every day and even today until half an hour ago, so you could’ve told me then.”

“You weren’t free, though. You had your classes –”

“You had classes, too –”

“But you have way too many classes. And that’s not even the point –”

“I’m hungry.”

“Me too. Chinese?”

“Whatever,” Combeferre said, turning his chair back to the desk.

“Oh, so I’m calling?”

“I’m working.”

“Sure you are,” he said, already picking up the phone and looking up the number.

“And I wouldn’t even know what to order, anyways.”

“You just hate phone calls.”

“And that, too.”

A minute later, Enjolras was speaking on the phone ordering for himself, and Combeferre had completely closed off to the external world.

“Combeferre, what do you want?”

“Shh, working.”

“Just tell me something to order for you.”

“Not hungry.”

Enjolras sighed resignedly and ordered more rice and teriyaki. He very well knew that now that Combeferre was into his essay, he wouldn’t be disturbed until he was finished, and by then he would be famished.

Three and a half hours later, Combeferre was halfway through the conclusion and his essay was three pages long. Enjolras was reading the newspaper silently on his own laptop, food long gone. He yawned and relished in the fact that he had nothing to do in a rare moment of exhaustion.

“I’m having an early night.” Combeferre grunted in response. “I left your food in the microwave; you just have to heat it up.” An affirmative noise. “Don’t forget you have Theology tomorrow morning,” an interested hum, “so you have to rest.”

“Night.”

“Goodnight.”

 

 

 

This was one of the rare occasions that Les Amis hung out somewhere other than the Musain. They were in The Corinth, a bar that was frequented mostly by students. Most of them were at least two drinks in, with the exception of Combeferre and Enjolras, who had only drunk one, and Grantaire, who had been completely sober for two months now. As is to be expected, Enjolras is a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, so he was drunkenly talking with a well-endowed blonde, oblivious to her advances as he flailed his arms and constantly flushed and de-flushed. Grantaire laughed with Éponine one last time before heading towards Combeferre, who was sat in one of the stools, watching his friends absentmindedly.

“You’ve been sitting here all evening.” Combeferre looked up and blinked repeatedly as Grantaire perched himself on the stool next to his and faced him. His dark curls stuck to his forehead and his smile was bright.

“I don’t really like dancing,” he replied simply. Combeferre and Grantaire’s relationship was easy, but real interaction was rare.

“Sure you do, you just haven’t tried it yet.”

“Ah, I’ve tried it,” he quipped.

“Oh?” Grantaire looked at him interested, eyebrow raised. When Combeferre didn’t say anything, he reclined his back on the bar and let his eyes wander to Enjolras – he couldn’t believe the gal was still with him. Most women got bored after two minutes. He noticed the way his hands stiffened and relaxed while he talked, the minute changes in his eyes: how sometimes they narrowed, and then widened, and then hardened, and then relaxed. He marveled at the sight, for Enjolras was usually much more careful with his body language. He could practically deduce what the conversation was about and how it was going simply by looking at his movements. He wondered how he would respond to touch just now.

“How with you cope with it?”

“With whom? – I mean, what?” He immediately shifted his gaze to anywhere other than the leader and blushed against his better judgment. Combeferre, of course, noticed. He made the connection and it dawned on him.

“I was originally going to refer to your coming to a bar and not drinking while everyone else did.”

“‘You originally were’? Shit. You know, don’t you?”

“What do I know?”

“About our dear Apollo there.”

“What about him?” Combeferre pressed, not really wanting to assume he was right, just in case. The brunet just spared him a leveled gaze, wordlessly reassuring Combeferre that whatever he was thinking was correct, and the both of them stayed silent for a moment.

“To be fair, you’re the last one to know. I was wondering when you would notice. Apparently, I’m really obvious.”

“How am I the last one to know?” Combeferre bemoaned. “Wait, are you saying Enjolras knows? He hasn’t told me anything.”

Grantaire snorted. “God, of course he doesn’t know. He’s more oblivious than even _you_.”

“I resent that,” the blond said.

“So, now that you finally know,” Grantaire continued, ignoring Combeferre, “I’ll take the shot and try to question you.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Is he a virgin?”

Combeferre didn’t physically start; his face remained as impassive as ever. His mind, however, came to a sudden halt. Grantaire was looking at him intently. “Yes.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he defended. Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Not technically.”

“Spit it out, man.”

“We sort of had sex once,” Combeferre blushed profusely, but Grantaire didn’t even look surprised. “We were drunk. And high. And it was for scientific purposes.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “And he doesn’t remember, so _technically_ , he’s a virgin.”

“He knows it happened, he just doesn’t remember the details.”

“And he doesn’t talk about it.”

“Obviously.” Both of them digested the information.

“And did you _fuck_ -fuck?”

“I am not comfortable with this conversation. At all. Please change the topic.”

“What was the ‘scientific hypothesis’ you wanted to prove by fucking?”

“Please stop,” Combeferre took a big gulp of his adulterated coke. Grantaire observed him for a moment before shrugging.

“So, was he any good?” The man laughed silently. “Just kidding, I’m just messing with you.”

Combeferre sighed and turned to Grantaire. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. “Do you want a relationship, or do you just want to have sex with him?”

“If I could have both, that’d be immensely good; although right now I just really feel like having sex.”

“Grantaire, I’m not very good with this kind of conversations, so please be serious.”

“I am wild.” Combeferre rolled his eyes and Grantaire grinned.

“I honestly want to help you.” The brunet sobered up a bit and focused on the other’s face again – _what is it with the staring?_ , Combeferre thought, _it’s unnerving_.

“You’re not the kind of person to do something out of the good in his heart,” Grantaire noted and the other man stayed silent, neither denying nor confirming, “so what do you get out of it?”

“I’m not sure…” Combeferre spoke slowly, trying to figure out how to say it with tact.

“Oh, spare my feelings,” Grantaire rolled his eyes. The Philosophy major studied him skeptically before nodding.

“I want to know what would happen; I think it’s an interesting situation. I also want to know how you two would work – you know, you’re both eerily similar. The main difference between you two is that you’re more spontaneous and mingle with the people, while Enjolras is a careful planner and leads the people, but other than that, you two are very similar. I think you could be good to one another,” he took another sip of his drink. “Plus, I thought I was imagining the sexual tension in your debates. Now that I know it’s really there, I would like to annihilate it. And also because Enjolras needs to learn how to deal with emotional situations; he doesn’t do well in those.”

“And you do?”

“I never said that I do,” Combeferre pointed out, “I’m just saying Enjolras doesn’t like to admit it. I also think it would be beneficial in the future. I’m pretty sure you can see how.”

“I don’t see how, actually,” he replied. He then looks at Combeferre and speaks, amused: “You do realize that your viewpoint on all of this is impersonal and cold and bypasses my and Enjolras’ feelings – or lack thereof.”

“It’s my belief that going about things the rational way is ultimately better than seeing their emotional value.”

“You’re a smart man, Combeferre. Emotions are tricky things.”

“So they are,” they smiled at each other and sat in a companionable silence. Grantaire, who suddenly looked really enthusiastic, broke it.

“So, what do you propose doing?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“You’re quick.”

 

 

Combeferre is a man of many talents, a true Jack of all trades. He’s adequately good at piano, he speaks French, English and Spanish fluently, knows a bit of programming, knows more about music theory, is great at Mathematics, always did great in Physics, is literate and cultured, went to gymnastics and debate classes during his Junior year in High School, went to photography and declamation courses on his Senior year, is an exemplary son, gets good grades, doesn’t need to study for exams, is a good friendly ear and always willing to learn something new. He’s an atheist who minors in Theology and will reduce a bigot disrespectful atheist to tears just as much as he will a bigot religious fanatic.

He also obsesses easily, forgets to eat, avoids responsibilities, forgets to feed his cat daily (Enjolras ends up taking care of Allan more than his actual owner), forgets to keep in touch with his grandmother, he is unbelievably lazy, is a Senior Procrastinator, is alarmed by strong emotions in himself and others, is really absentminded, occasionally stubborn to death, sometimes terribly indecisive, is prone to bouts of depression, self-doubts constantly, overly psycho-analyzes his every move, and he’s changed majors three times in four semesters.

“I think I’m going to change to Psychology next semester.”

The collective chorus of ‘ _What?!_ ’ can be heard from the street.

“Combeferre, stop changing majors!” Says Courfeyrac.

“I swear in one year you’ll have taken every class the University offers, at this rate,” says Éponine.

“Maybe you should take this semester off, to see what you really like,” says Marius. Cosette nods at his side.

“You should go back to pre-med,” says Feuilly. “If you lasted a whole year there, maybe it’s your true calling.”

“No, man; it’s totally Philosophy,” Bahorel adds.

“I just thought that I won’t be able to do much with a bachelors in Philosophy,” Combeferre spoke, finally, a bit shocked by his friends’ response.

“I still think you were great in poli-sci,” offers Enjolras.

“I liked it only in theory,” provided Combeferre.

“And pre-med?” Joly looked like a sad puppy. “You were brilliant, and we helped each other out so well…”

“I like it, but I don’t think I’d like to be a doctor forever.”

“And why give up Philosophy? It fit you so well,” Jehan asked. He liked talking to Combeferre about Philosophy; it was a shame he was giving it up.

“I said it already. And also, because I think I like Psychology more. Besides, it’s not like I will forget all I learned, and it doesn’t mean I stopped liking philoso–”

“But everybody studies Psychology! Usually that means crappy classes and crappy professors who don’t love their subject,” added Bossuet. “You won’t like it.”

“Well, I think it’s great,” said Grantaire from his place on Éponine’s side. “You should go for what you want. Better to regret doing it than not doing it, if you regret it at all.”

“Thank you, Grantaire.”

“Yeah, just do what makes you happy, man,” smiled Courfeyrac. “Just figure out what it is, already – or _who_ it is,” he laughed.

“You are so predictable, Courf,” Éponine rolled her eyes.

“Anyways, I do think Psychology suits you,” Grantaire continued.

“Everything suits him because he’s good at everything he wants to be good at,” intervened Feuilly. “I think he just has to find what he’s best at. He’s a good doctor.”

“You said it yourself, though: he’s good at everything,” noted Bahorel.

“I’m going to change to Psychology next semester,” said Combeferre slowly, “and I will take Philosophy and Theology for extra credits.”

“How many classes has he taken for extra credits throughout his superior education?” Asked Bossuet.

“He was taking Theology and Nursing when he was majoring in poli-sci;” Enjolras provided, thinking hard, “Theology and Creative Writing the year he was in pre-med; and Theology, Cultural and Artistic Movements, and Advanced Spanish this semester.”

“Theology is the only constant,” Cosette said. “Maybe you should look up Theology and see what you can do with it?”

“If you think about it, Theology is very related to Psychology, and also to Philosophy – Philosophy is merely another unofficial religion,” said Combeferre. “So it’s really not that big of a jump.”

“That’s a beautiful way of putting it,” Jehan smiled. “You’re right. I know you’ll do well, ‘Ferre. You’ll still talk to me about Philosophy, though, right?”

“I stand by my point: just follow your dreams, ‘Ferre.”

“Thanks again, R.” Grantaire smirked and tipped off his nonexistent top hat.

“‘Ferre’? Since well does Grantaire call you ‘Ferre’? And since when do you call him ‘R’?” Enjolras asked, frowning.

“Why, Apollo, are you jealous?”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Well, Combeferre and I had a talk earlier this week,” continues Grantaire, looking straight at Enjolras, “and I’ve come to an academic conclusion myself, which I completely owe to Combeferre, and thus it’ll be his fault when it completely backfires.”

Combeferre rolls his eyes and Enjolras looks more and more out of his depth with each new spoken word. “You talk with Combeferre?” Grantaire glares at him.

“Yes, Apollo. Believe it or not, you’re not the only one smart enough to hold a conversation with our brainiac.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an offense,” Combeferre commented mildly.

“It’s whatever you want it to be.”

“A compliment, then.”

Grantaire continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted in the first place: “I’ve decided I’ll have two bachelors.”

“You’re coming back to school?” Asked a delighted Joly.

“Yeah, well, I just finished on Liberal Arts, and I want to have something to do that isn’t art, so I’m going for Journalism.”

There was a stunned silence. “Combeferre convinced you to take up Journalism?” Enjolras asked quietly. Grantaire gulped visibly.

“Yeah.”

“Great for you, man!!!” Courfeyrac hugged his party buddy. “That’s so awesome!”

“And what are you minoring in?”

Grantaire grinned sheepishly and briefly looked up at Enjolras. “Political Movements in Modern History. I don’t know if I’ll have to take another one. I hope not.”

Enjolras didn’t say anything after that. Not like Grantaire really expected him to. Éponine was eyeing Combeferre contemplatively and he pretended not to notice.

The rest of the day was spent celebrating and mindlessly chatting. Combeferre, as usual, slipped out unnoticed. It’s not that he didn’t love hanging out with his friends, but even spending time with them exhausted him – and to be honest, he didn’t particularly enjoy chit-chat. He dragged an immobile and silent Enjolras with him and returned home, feeling more tired the closer they got to their apartment.

Enjolras opened the door and walked in. Immediately after, he sabotaged Combeferre’s plans of going to sleep as soon as he could.

“When did you talk to Grantaire? I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, of course; I just didn’t see it coming.”

“Why are you so obsessed with my talking with Grantaire?” Combeferre moaned and then sighed in defeat when it was clear Enjolras would not simply stop insisting. “We had a really decent conversation at the Corinth –”

“That was a month ago.”

“Let me finish,” Combeferre paused and sat down on the single red couch. “We just talked in there, and sometimes when you weren’t here, he’d invite himself over, and we’d have conversations like friends do.”

“What about?” Enjolras asked, genuinely curious. Combeferre couldn’t sense any malice in his tone, so he proceeded.

“School, the meaning of life, happiness, love… and out bucket lists.”

“So you had deep and intelligent conversations.” Enjolras was surprised in a nice way, but his words sounded cold even to his own ears.

“He’s an intelligent and faceted man. He’s not just the recovering alcoholic and cynic you know. Actually, he’s brilliant. He’s a nice debate partner.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he doesn’t take things personally, and he’s also really blunt himself. I find it really refreshing. You should talk to him more.”

“I don’t think he particularly enjoys my presence,” the Political Sciences student frowned and tipped his head. Combeferre smiled.

“Just because someone disagrees with your views on the world, doesn’t mean they disagree with your existence.”

“You would know.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Whatever,” Enjolras rolled his eyes and stood up. “I’m going for a run. Wanna come?”

“Nope; not at all. I’m really tired. Have fun, though.”

“Thanks,” he grabbed a red blazer and turned again to his friend, a bit hesitant. “What you did for him was good. I’m sure he’ll like Journalism. And I agree with him on your Psychology thing.”

Combeferre smiled small but honest before going back to his room. Enjolras headed out and tried to organize his thoughts.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope that wasn't so bad. Again: I may or may not continue with this, but comments usually motivate me, as I'm sure they do everybody else. Oh, and also, English is not my first language, so I'm sorry for any grammar/coherence mistakes. And, er, this is also unbeta-ed. It's not even revised. I'm telling you, I'm a terrible writer.  
> EDIT: Corrected some typos and changed a few words to avoid much repetition. And deleted a few 'just's. I'm sorry, I just like that word(;  
> Also decided I'll be doing Enjolras next.


End file.
